


Misfortune’s love letter

by Ayame_D



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, JHaven Project 2020 (Disney/Rise of the Guardians), Memories, Memory Loss, Photographs, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24487978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayame_D/pseuds/Ayame_D
Summary: Sometimes you can’t remember a word. But sometimes you don’t only forget a word, but an entire story. Your story. And sometimes it can’t be helped.
Relationships: Elsa (Disney)/Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12
Collections: Tales of Jelsa Haven





	Misfortune’s love letter

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is part of the Jelsa Haven Discord project. Edits, fanarts and one-shots are all under the hashtag #jhavenproject2020 in different platforms.  
> Jelsa haven is a server free of toxicity. If you like Jelsa and want to join the server, I encourage you to private message me for the link.

Photographs. There are photographs scattered on the table. Some photographs had fallen to the floor, dropped by shaky hands. There are photographs stained by wild tears that had made their way down through rosy cheeks and trembling lips.

Two cerulean eyes had seen each one of those photographs. Two _yearning_ cerulean eyes blurred by an ocean of emptiness had searched in each one of those photographs waiting, hoping, believing they would find something, _anything_ , that could throw some light in that blank memory.

No one would think a series of casualties throughout the years could happen. No one would think a simple hobby and an accidental encounter would place everything in the same place. Elsa's thoughts as a down to Earth girl weren't any different. But yet there she is now, on the floor, trying to comfort a broken man who is crying in her arms, both surrounded by memories that can't be returned and a reminder that you don't have to die to feel your life slip between your fingers.

She tightens the embrace and starts drawing circles on his back. Closing her eyes, she focuses on his ragged breath and violent sobs, on his shaky shoulders. She focuses on her heartbeat; low, yet powerful enough to be heard, accompanies his lament in a decaying duet.

* * *

The feeling of the cold steering wheel wasn't soothing or relieving. Not at all. Elsa left a tired sigh that fogged up the car window even more, adjusted the volume of the radio, and reclined in her seat for the fourth (or maybe fifth?) time. Her concern was growing and showing as a frown and a breathless weight on her chest.

Her eyes wandered to the passenger seat and finally landed on her phone. Without thinking, she grabbed it and looked at the unread message she had sent her sister twenty minutes ago. And the one she had sent her fifteen minutes ago. And another about ten minutes ago. And then a message every minute. Now she wasn't only frowning her eyebrows, but her lips too. Where was she?

Anna had made it clear that she didn't want Elsa to go after her; she wanted to be more independent, do things on her own. Of course, Elsa was happy with her sister's decision. Well, at least until ten minutes and over twelve messages ago.

She was considering stepping out of the car when she saw Anna walking with an young man, both under Anna's umbrella; he was helping himself with a crutch, so their pace was slow. Elsa reclined in her seat again and smiled at her sister, the persistent weight on her chest now gone. She turned the engine on and tuned the radio.

When they were closer Elsa recognised him. He was the man who asked her for directions to Arendelle University a few days ago; that day she found him familiar and now she felt that same impression. There was something strange about him, but what?

She watched as her sister gave him her umbrella. He declined. And, of course, Anna insisted as the stubborn girl she is.

Anna got in the car and fastened her seatbelt. Elsa, already aware of what was to come, took a deep breath and smiled when her sister grabbed her phone and pressed the record button.

—Ok, Elsa. I'm sure you saw the guy who I was with, right?

—Yes, I did.

—Well, I saw him when I finished my classes. He was soaking wet and, obviously, I couldn't leave him there as he didn't have an umbrella, so I offered to walk with him.

—That's so sweet from you, sis. Though I would appreciate it if you answered my messages. I was concerned about you, Anna.

—So, I asked him what happened to him because of that crutch he uses. Well, he told me he had an accident and... wait, messages? —She looked at her sister with a frown. Then, realisation hit her—. Oh... Oh! I'm so sorry, I forgot! I... I was so immersed when I was with him that I didn't remember that I had to call you. I really want to be more independent but then this happens. I... I will be more cautious next time, I promise, I won't forget.

Elsa sighed and locked eyes with Anna for a moment, giving her the most reassuring look she could.

—Don't blame yourself. I trusted you, and I still do. I knew you were going to be alright and that's why I didn't get off the car.

A big smile crossed her sister's face; sparkly eyes full of joy thanking her. After telling her "I love you" in a singing voice Elsa returned her gaze towards the road. Anna was about to start recording again but the moment she pressed the play button she went silent. Elsa didn't notice and asked in an upbeat tone.

—I think you were saying that he has an accident, am I right?

The rain was pouring, hitting the car moon mercilessly, forcing the wipe washers to work nonstop.

—Anna?

Elsa looked at her sister. It took her a moment to witness what was going on. But yet, even after four years, she felt her heart shrink at the sight of Anna's frown, her tense shoulders, and her wandering and missing gaze. It wasn't the first time; it wouldn't be the last time; it was the usual. But usual doesn't mean it hurts less.

—Who had an accident?

The stopped in a traffic light and Elsa took a deep breath, squeezing Anna's hand.

—You just met a man and offered to walk with him since he didn't have an umbrella. You seemed to get along quite well. —She tilted her head closer to Anna's, trying to find her eyes.— He had white hair and helped himself with a crutch. I think he asked me for directions to Arendelle a week ago, too.

The traffic light switched to green. Before returning to the road, Elsa took a quick glance towards her sister. Anna had sunk in her seat and was now looking through the window. She knew her too well. She knew Anna was mentally scolding herself for forgetting (again), even if it was something she couldn't control. After all those years she had grown more confident and positive, just like the Anna she always knew. But Elsa was conscious of the fact that her sister was also a good pretender, but not with her. She would always notice when Anna was down.

—Why did I have to have that tumour?

Elsa's heart sank. She would do anything if that meant Anna's happiness. However, she can only offer support.

—Some things happen unexpectedly and we can do nothing to change them, Anna. —She paused, trying to get the right words.— I know it's a difficult situation, and I can't possibly know how it feels, but I'll never get tired of telling you that I love you unconditionally and that I'll always be here, with you, regardless of everything. You know that, right?

—That's one of the things I will always remember —Anna finally said, smirking shyly.

The atmosphere lightened and a comfortable silence surrounded them, only interrupted by Anna adjusting the volume of the radio. Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto 1 started to play.

—Oh, I'm learning this one at piano lessons!

After saying that, she started to move her hands, eyes closed, imagining she was playing the keys. Elsa let herself relax and thanked the music, another thing her sister would always remember.

* * *

One week later, Elsa was standing in front of _Fantasia_ , Anna's music academy. She was crazy if she thought letting her hair down in such windy weather was a good idea. The forecast was the one to blame, though.

Tucking a hair strand behind her ear (in vain) for the eighteenth time that afternoon she looked at the academy entrance, squinting eyes focusing on the lateral light and the way it made the windows shine. Elsa lifted her camera and leaned forward, framing the image. Forte had asked her for some pictures to advertise his business and Elsa agreed immediately; they knew each other since Anna started taking piano lessons, nearly four years ago, and she was starting her own business.

An instant of blinding white light and a quick glance to the screen made her smile widen. Focusing again on the entrance she walked a few steps to find another interesting angle and burst shot.

Elsa lowered her camera. She was about to check the photos when something caught her attention. White hair, to be exact. He was standing near the door, leaning over his crutch while swinging a green umbrella. Anna's umbrella.

—Are you waiting for Anna, sir?

No response. Elsa frowned. She approached him and then, after a few steps, his eyes met hers in an explosion of surprise, losing his balance and almost falling.

—I am so sorry!

Elsa closed the distance between them and helped him. She was babbling apologetic words and feeling a sudden wave of heat at the back of her head when she heard a chuckle. Lifting her head, two cerulean eyes met hers. He grinned.

—It's ok, uh...

—Elsa Arens —she whispered, examining his features.

Now they were closer, that feeling of recognition attacked her again, tangling her tongue and sculpting a slight frown on her forehead.

—Name's Jackson, but you can call me Jack —The name didn't trigger anything in her mind—. So... do you know Anna?

—Yes, I do. We are sisters. If you were waiting for her, —she pointed to the umbrella— she doesn't have class on Fridays. Last week she was catching up on some missing hours.

—Oh, alright. Thank you.

Jack gave her the umbrella back. They locked eyes. Elsa felt like she was forgetting something again. Neither of them broke eye contact. He grinned, but something was off; he was smiling, but his eyes weren't.

—Do we know each other?

—Yeah, you gave me directions to Arendelle University a while back —he chuckled but, again, something was off.

—I remember that but somehow it is like I have seen you somewhere else.

And there it was. That uneasy smile disappeared with just a few words and an uncomfortable feeling that had been building up since the conversation started, and their eye contact broke. Elsa felt her stomach tightening while he looked at his crutch.

—I... I don't know. I wouldn't be able to tell if we had met before.

—May I ask why?

It was obvious he didn't want to keep up with the conversation; his constant fidgeting and now evasive eyes were screaming to let go of that subject. But she was curious. And she cared. Caring about a stranger's sorrows? It could be regarded as gossiping, she thought.

Elsa was about to apologise for her impulsive question when he interrupted her.

—Retrograde amnesia.

She looked at him, eyes wide open. Elsa gripped the umbrella with involuntary force. She was familiar with that term; it had haunted her since that day at the ice rink, that moment when Anna fell, the following hours of surgery, and the final result of years of erased childhood memories. 

—How are you coping with it?

A moment of hesitation.

—I don't have much that could remind me of them. All my data was lost with my phone, and the last picture I have with them is from ten years ago.

A tight knot threatened to suffocate her. The conversation had turned dreary too fast for her to react correctly. She examined him, pondering her next words thoroughly.

—It's alright, —he muttered. Elsa heard it, but it was as if he was talking to himself— I can't be bothered for their deaths, I can't remember them anyway.

—Excuse me?

Elsa took a step forward and raised her hand, barely brushing his hoodie's sleeve. A single touch, light, and gentle. Jack stepped aside, shaking his head. He didn't give Elsa time to apologise before turning around. She didn't react until he had walked a few meters away, crestfallen, putting more weight than necessary on his crutch.

Biting her lip, she tried to follow him but tripped over a broken tile. Her camera nearly fell. When she looked for him again he was nowhere to be seen, not even turning over the corner.

Elsa cringed at her own stupidity and let go of a long, sharp breath. As a habit, she looked at her camera's screen and scrolled through the photographs she had taken that afternoon without even focusing on them. That was until a strand of white hair appeared in one of the pictures. She blinked several times before going over them a second time. There he was, in the burst shot photos; not noticing he was being photographed (she didn't notice he was photographing him either). She smiled to herself. Keeping memories was so valuable to her since Anna's first tumour removal, and photographs became one of Anna's memory archives after her second.

Elsa examined the pictures a second time. A flash of rapid thoughts she couldn't even keep track of clouded her mind and she held the camera closer to her chest. And that feeling invaded her. The feeling of realisation, the feeling of being aware of dreaming, the feeling of finding that word that has been goofing around in your tongue tip. The feeling of remembering or at least thinking you do. And she knew what to do next.

* * *

The sweet sound of wooden pieces flattering against each other echoed in the establishment, announcing Elsa's arrival. She stormed in (so unusual from her) and cut the flower-scented air, closing the distance between her and Toothiana.

—Hi, Elsa! Long time no see!

—Hello, Tooth —she greeted back, looking at the decorated walls— Can I use your archive? I'm trying to find some photographs we took together during the Winterfest but I'm still and organising mine.

—Sure! Come with me. By the way, can I ask why you need them?

—I need to check on something —she said, losing her gaze in the collection of old cameras Tooth had.

It wasn't the first time she'd been there but the decoration always left her breathless. Birthdays, weddings, babies. All of them broadly different photographs but yet they all had Tooth's style. They all seemed so real, they all told a story and whispered emotions. Her friend's specialty, the reason for the name of her business, "Memory Palace".

Tooth opened the back door and rows of shelves appeared into view. Labelled boxes with carefully wrapped envelopes treasured thousands of photographs, Tooth's unorthodox way of doing things. When every other person in the field would have kept all that data in a HDD she would print every single picture, too. Her reasons? A screen wasn't enough, the paper was needed to feel everything, it's a special, private connection. The old ways are always better, she said. And even though Elsa didn't like the fact that all that paper was being used, she couldn't debate that, indeed, there was something somewhat magical in the act of holding a picture.

—Alright, you already know how this works so I'll leave you alone. Tell me when you find what you're looking for!

Elsa thanked her and sat in front of the only computer she saw, which had all the organised information. The white light of the screen greeted her and soon she was surfing in that sea of dates, searching for some specific photos. Which ones? She didn't know yet, but she would find out soon.

She bit her lower lip and started typing and scrolling through all that data.

Her face lit.

— _Eureka_.

Elsa jumped and almost ran between the shelves. Moving boxes she ended up with three of them, each of them labelled with a year and the distinct snowflake that Tooth used for the Winterfest.

Opening the envelopes with shaky hands, her and her anticipated eyes wandered over the pictures.

And then she stopped breathing for a moment, fixated in a single photograph. And then she found more, and more. They were all diverse, different. Except for two details: one, they were all taken during the Winterfest; and two, _him_.

* * *

Jack was tired. Tired of telling people the exact same words over and over again; tired of seeing the shock in their faces (but could he blame them? It was the logical reaction); tired of staying up until dawn in a pointless effort to remember; tired of holding back the tears. Tired of not being able to mourn.

He shook his head and focused on the cursive, elegant lettering of the book he was holding. His sister's lettering. And then looked at Arendelle University.

He was lying when he said that he didn't mind about them, he always did. And his actions betrayed him, bad use every day he would read Emma's diary and visit the places she mentioned (today she talked again about the University she was going to attend). Every day he would cook one of the handwritten recipes he found in the kitchen (it seemed like he was the one who wrote them). Every day he would read one of the sports magazines his father collected. Every day he would water the plants, wondering whose task was that (probably his mother's). Every single morning he would wake up and feel like he was in a stranger's house, and every single night he would turn the light off, unable to face that house, and go to bed, hoping the next day would be different and that all those memories would come back, even if he didn't know what was exactly missing. But that never happened. And every day was a vicious circle of deception.

—Jack!

He almost lost his balance and gripped his crutch with involuntary force. But Emma's diary fell to the ground. The slight spark of anger that had traveled through him disappeared the moment he saw the blonde girl (what was her name? Ah, Elsa) profusely apologising and blushing from embarrassment. She picked the diary from the floor and still babbling and biting her lower lip just like the other day. And just like the other day, he chuckled.

—This is the second time, snowflake —he said, touching her hands when she handed him the diary back. Now that they were just a few inches away a scent of vanilla invaded him.

—I'm so sorry, it won't happen... again.

—Hey, it's ok.

She relaxed at his words. Maybe this time they could have a lighter conversation, Jack thought.

—I want to apologise for my behaviour the other day, I was blunt.

—Oh, it's alright. I'm kinda used to it. And... well, I shouldn't have left so suddenly —he said.

—And I am sorry for bringing the subject back, but I feel the need to explain myself.

No lighter conversation, then.

Jack wanted to tell her once more that everything was alright, that he was alright. But something inside him didn't let him. Because he knew that wasn't true. Because he wanted to stop lying to himself.

—I have been thinking about it and my reaction wasn't appropriate. But I can tell you why I was so shocked. —She started to play with her hands— My sister had a similar experience. With amnesia I mean. A tumour removal at five, part of her memories were erased. And then, a few years ago, the same thing happened, this time leaving her with difficulty remembering new things.

Jack has already forgiven her, but Elsa kept talking.

—So I took up photography. And since you mentioned that you don't have that many pictures of your family I asked a friend of mine who also works in the field. —She stopped for a moment, looking at him. Then a little smirk appeared in her lips.— And I found _you_.

—Wait, what? You found _me_?

—We were at the Winterfest and took photos of almost everything. I borrowed hers and found the ones I took, too. You appear in most of them.

He was rejoicing. After losing all the data on his phone and finding out that his family didn't care about family portraits he thought everything was lost, but now? Now there was a chance. There was a chance.

Jack's smile couldn't widen more. He let go of the crutch and hugged Elsa who, surprised at first, returned the embrace and smiled shyly.

—Thank you, thank you, thank you so much.

He broke the embrace after a minute to brush off his tears. Elsa then offered to drive to her establishment but Jack refused. He may have responded too abruptly because she got startled, but she didn't question him. It took them an hour of comfortable silence, which Elsa broke when they were almost at her establishment. She told him about taking up photography after her sister's last tumour removal and how she had decided to start a business when the two sisters found out about their mother's unsuccessful photography business, and her store.

—Ahtohallan? —he asked when he read the sign.

—Yes, that's the name our mother thought of. I don't know what it means but I wanted to keep it for obvious reasons.

They entered and he was soon admiring the modern and neat space. The cold colours calmed his nervousness, but her smile brought it back. He took a deep breath when Elsa disappeared behind the counter, then approached him and handed him a few envelopes.

And all his excitement faded out in an instant when he started going through the pictures, weight building on his chest.

His previous thoughts and hopes left his mind, one by one, stabbing him while doing so. Of course, he recognised himself in the photographs. Of course, he recognised his family because he had looked at their identification cards. But it wasn't the feeling he was looking for. It felt cold, it felt empty.

He felt _nothing_.

He focused again in the pictures, frowning. His family, his past, his experiences. They all were his. They all were alive once. They all occurred. But it felt like he was looking at someone's life instead of his, that the one in the photographs was someone else. He couldn't remember, the doctor had already warned him about that. But he still wanted to believe the memories would come back. That he would be able to mourn. That he would stop feeling miserable.

He shook his head in denial, his heart trying to pump enough oxygen to make him react, but his lungs weren't cooperating.

—Jack. Jack, look at me.

A gentle touch on his shoulder, a pair of concerned blue eyes. And then his senses were brought back to reality. He was on the floor, and he was crying. Elsa cupped his face with her hands and brushed off his tears, an act too gentle compared with the storm that was growing inside him.

And he shattered.

* * *

Dusk is almost here. Long shadows crawl inside Ahtohallan. Neither of them bothered to turn the lights on.

Elsa has been hugging him for almost two hours and he has been clinging onto her for an eternity. The floor is cold, making their limbs go numb; but he doesn't mind, and so does she. No more sobs, no more convulsions. Just an empty calm.

Jack shuts his eyes tightly and talks with a raspy voice.

—Why?

A moment of hesitation.

—I don't know.

—Why did all of this happen?

—I don't know.

He lifts up his head and makes eye contact with Elsa. The chuckle that escaped his mouth was strained, but full of love.

—You know... she had a lot of plans. I've read her diary. She was studying in Arendelle University... she hadn't even finished her first year when... when we had the accident.

—Arendelle University?

—Yeah. One of the best, the elite. —he shakes his head— She had brains and now I can't even admire her.

—My father was the principal and now I'm close with North, the actual principal. I can ask him for her.

—Would you do that?

Another wave of emotion overwhelms him and he can't help crying one more time. And, one more time, Elsa wraps her arms around him and hushes him. And he tries to thank her, but the tight knot in his throat drowns his words. 

Night arrives soon. Misfortune keeps dancing its elegant waltz on a stage illuminated by the moonlight; a sea of tears and paper boats is watching; and a lullaby of sobs echoes in the establishment, embracing them in its dim whispers.


End file.
